Lost Boy - Short Story
by ExtraordinaryElliot
Summary: "The worst part about being okay is that you don't know you are until you lose something you love."


He was a sarcastic one, wasn't he?

Always giving everyone that look, like, _can you be anymore stupid?_ Of course, everyone _could_ be that stupid - ending the world, drawing attention to themselves, making _him_ do all the saving, never allowing him to set down for a second. It's a nightmare, when he has no one to turn to, when he goes to talk with one of his past companions - and they aren't there. It's like he has to reevaluate everything, because he can't talk to anyone; and everyone he comes in contact with either dies or leaves him, in the end. It's all about _in the end_ , never about _in the beginning_. In the beginning they loved him. In the beginning, they were still breathing and alive and weren't grieved over.

Those were his thoughts as he grabbed her hand, telling her to run. She was pretty - terribly pretty, and he knew she would be the one that was going to stick out - she would either leave him or die. Or maybe he would leave her. Or maybe _he_ wouldn't leave her - maybe his next Regeneration would. All in all, he knew she would be his new companion - even before he knew it. That little voice, deep in his mind, kept saying it; and he ignored it and kept running, because that's all he did. Run. _Run run run run_.

"Who are you?"

Oh, wasn't that the question? That was always the question. _Who are you?_ Why not _What's your name? Nice weather, right?_ It was never that easy; no, it was just never that easy for _him_. Because he never made it easy on himself - not with the fallout. He couldn't escape the guilt, and that was what drowned him; what made him lost, what made him want to cry and scream and laugh like a madman. The _guilt_. It was always the _guilt_. Maybe he'd learn to forgive himself; maybe he wouldn't. It all depended on what he learned as he traveled with this blonde girl by his side.

* * *

She was staring at with that expression again, the one that said _I miss him._ Of course she missed him - she had loved his old self, the sarcastic tall fellow with th leather coat. What did she have against trench coats, anyways? Was leather a better type of cloth that attracted women? Well, he wasn't going to change for her - he wouldn't change for anyone.

Except he did change, when he met the next companion. They went on very few adventures before she had left him; walked out of the TARDIS, leaving him baffled and proud. Martha Jones had learned that she was an amazing woman, and she was in charge of her own life. As he'd watched her leave, he felt a strange sense of pride - she wasn't dead, and he hadn't been the one to leave her behind. It was the other way around, the first in a while, and it had changed him.

The read-head was a different sort for him - they were always bickering, always acting like two siblings fighting for their mum's attention. And when he had to leave her behind, wipe her memory of everything they had done together, it had almost broken him. It was like losing a best friend - like he'd known someone his whole life, and suddenly they had stopped talking to each other. For a while, he felt like an ordinary human ; vulnerable, alone, and helpless. He felt like he did when Rose left, really.

But don't even get him started on Jack.

* * *

The new him was quite different, honestly.

So clumsy, so prone to accidents and end-of-the-world events. The next red-headed girl was almost like having Donna back, except she was in love with him at some point, unlike the memorable Noble.

She and her boyfriend were always switching their lives around, wanting to see the stars and live dull lives at the same time. But he didn't mind - if they became like him, who would be there to take him off his high-horse and tell him about the beauty in life and creation?

Maybe it would be his next companion, Clara Oswald. While he was certainly closer with Amy and Rory - and much closer with River - she was one to be reckoned with. She was confident, and she didn't try to hide her life. There were many different sides to her, though. There was Oswin, Victorian, and the one he had finally taken with him - the girl who had saved his life, Clara Oswald.

But Amy was still the first face he ever saw.

* * *

And now, as his story comes to a close, he knows he was a stubborn one this time.

He could still see her dying, clear as day. Maybe she was with her Danny, or maybe in an endless nothing.

Or perhaps, because she's Clara Oswald, she'll be back very soon.

All he can say is that he's lost, and he doesn't quite know why.


End file.
